


Every Day Like A Treasure

by chaosinthesolarsystem



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Future Fic, Other, but in spirit, future fic here means the author doesn't know what these people are doing with their lives exactly, it be like that sometimes, this was supposed to be fluff and got weirdly melancholic along the way, well not physically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosinthesolarsystem/pseuds/chaosinthesolarsystem
Summary: Juno has a lot of experience with places that were once his home and aren't, anymore. They never feel quite as alien as you want them to.





	Every Day Like A Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this, I imagined it set about 10-12 years in the future from current canon but that isn't set in stone. I got NO idea what the status quo is going to be after future seasons so uuuh this is probably gonna be rendered AU in the near future (in this case I'm selfishly pretending they're all going adventuring forever, with regular team-ups with Buddy & Co)

The doors to the balcony are thrown wide open and a gentle artificial breeze is blowing into the room, billowing the white curtains and making Juno shiver. He puts the scorched part of his blaster he’d been replacing down and goes to close the windows, throwing a look across the expanse of Titan’s capital city, all sharp white angles under a hazy orange sky. 

He would appreciate the view more any other day, but he’s worn out from twenty hours of being perched in a space shuttle and walking around with a stab wound in his hip. It’s days like this that he really learns to appreciate Buddy, Vespa, and their ship. Right now, all of them are scattered across the galaxy, Peter and him just having finished a two-month job and now on their way to meet Rita on Neptune in a few days- at least, after a detour. Juno shudders. 

He goes back to fixing his blaster and when that is done he redresses his wound. Then, he’s out of things to busy himself with so he takes to rearranging his suitcase even though they’re traveling light as always and it's not strictly necessary. He’s in the process of getting vaguely annoyed at Peter who vanished without a trace earlier with some diffuse reasoning of Juno needing rest and going easy on his injuries. The hypocrite. 

Juno finally perks up at the clatter of heels against impeccably polished marble floors. Sure enough, Peter breezes into the hotel room seconds later. 

“How’s the hip, darling?” 

“You make it sound like I’m ninety,” Juno says irritably without looking up, and then, because he can feel Peter’s look, with a sigh, “The hip is fine, shut up about it.” 

He goes back to rearranging various clothes, weaponry, and knick-knacks in his suitcase. Peter kicks his shoes off, slides out of his rumpled dress, and melodramatically drapes himself across the hotel bed with all the theatricality of an ignored cat. 

“What, love, I can’t be concerned about your potentially fatal injuries anymore?” 

Juno throws a sock at him.

“Yeah, you’ve fussed enough about this one. As far as stab wounds conducted on my person go, this one didn’t even reach the top twenty.”

Peter throws the sock back at him. 

“The top twenty in terms of lethality, creativity, execution…?” 

“All of the above.” 

“And I don’t fuss. In fact, I am appalled you would even suggest such a thing.” 

That outrageous lie is what makes Juno finally throw him a long, deeply judgmental look before zipping the suitcase shut. 

There’s the hint of an easy, comfortable smile playing around Peter’s lips and it makes some of the tension in Juno’s spine melt away. He’s always slightly on edge around these days of the year, and he knows that’s never going to go away entirely. It’s still better than it used to be. The grief is always going to be there, but the lingering helpless anger and guilt are fading more with every year that passes.

There’s a bottle of wine standing forgotten on the dresser, a gift from the hotel, and Juno grabs and opens it before letting himself sink down next to Peter with a tired sigh.

“I think we might have even had glasses somewhere, if you want to keep up some pretense of class,” Peter says from where he’s still lying diagonally on the bed. 

“Ugh, don’t bother,” Juno mutters and is about to take a sip straight out of the bottle when Peter interrupts him with an “In that case,” and snags the bottle out of his hand to put it against his own lips.

“Hey!”

“Good heavens, this stuff is revolting,” Peter is pulling a face that makes Juno snort with laughter in spite of himself. He knows he’s being purposefully silly to distract him but he pushes down the indignation and opts for warmth instead. He takes the bottle that is being shoved back at him.

“This is disgusting,” he confirms before taking another sip and sinking fully into the bed, his head pillowed on Peter’s outstretched arm. They pass the bottle back and forth in silence for a while. 

“You’ll never guess who I saw in the lobby earlier,” Peter says eventually, with a yawn, “Old Aaby Arversen. Shouting down some poor hotel staff.” 

“Aaby who- wait, the mobster with the pet alligator? Really? What’s he doing on Titan? He thinks we’re dead, right?” 

“He is indeed under the impression we froze to death somewhere on that asteroid, yes.” 

“Asteroid? Wasn’t he the one who tried to feed us to that mean giant fish on Europa?”

“No, that one’s name was Olsen.” 

“Peter,” Juno asks around a yawn, “Do you sometimes wonder if we’ve pissed off too many people?”

Peter pushes himself up on his elbow with an exaggerated look of offense, his hand sliding under Juno’s shirt, fingers poking into his ribs. Juno fights down a laugh. 

“Juno! Why would you say that?” 

“I’m kidding,” Juno grins and puts the hand that isn’t holding the bottle of terrible wine on his husband’s neck, pulling him into a quick kiss before rearranging them so he can let his head rest on Peter’s chest. He lets himself get lost in the feeling of gentle fingers running through his hair, over his neck, following the pattern of the scars on his shoulders and his back. 

“Are we gonna do anything about Arversen?” Juno asks with another yawn, half muffled into Peter’s soft skin. Juno likes it, the way they’re both getting softer with age, the way Peter has actual laugh lines now, the fine silver threading through his hair when he has no occasion to dye it. Vanity has never quite managed to catch up with him here, when getting older with Peter seems like such a miracle, such a gift with an infinitesimal chance of happening that he sometimes still can’t believe he gets to live it. It’s... strange to see it happen to himself in the mirror, but it isn’t bad. Just unexpected. He just sometimes wishes that he could make his younger self see that he made it this far.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, I’m sure we’ll be long gone tomorrow before he ever comes down again.”

“Mmh,” Juno links their hands. The last light of the day catches on Peter’s wedding band which, against any sense or practicality, he’s always insisted on wearing on his hand rather than around his neck. 

(Juno couldn’t not do the same thing, on principle)

“Are you saying that because you’re getting lazy or because you drugged him?” 

“Because I drugged him, darling, who do you take me for?”

Juno starts on a response but gets cut off by another yawn. 

“Go to sleep, Juno,” Peter says, tugs the bottle out of his hand and puts it down on the nightstand, “We need all the sleep we can get.” 

***

Mars is cold. Juno can’t quite put a finger on it but there’s a chill that has to do with more than temperature that settles into him when they set foot on the ground outside the shuttle. A cold heaviness that starts to weigh him down every time they come back to here, a thickness in his lungs and a pressure that drags his shoulders down and slows his steps. 

He knows the tension shows on his face every time, but Peter has been so kind to never once comment on it, instead linking their fingers, holding tight and not bothering with any pointless small talk. 

They get two bouquets, one that Rita asked them to buy on her behalf. Some years she comes with them on this trip, but this time she’s gotten caught up with a job in the Outer Rim that she’ll only be able to wrap up in a few days. Juno clutches the first bouquet tight enough that his hands stop shaking. Peter links their arms and they make their way through the cemetery gates, a grim annual tradition, until Peter lets his arm fall out of Juno’s at the edge of a particular row of graves and hands him the second bouquet. He leans in to brush his lips against Juno’s temple and steps back.

“I’ll be right behind you, love.”

“Yeah,” Juno sighs, “See you.” 

He turns to continue his way alone while Peter takes to wandering aimlessly among the graves out of hearing distance, giving him privacy. Eventually, he stops and gives a shaky exhale. 

“Hi, Ben,” he murmurs, slight tremor in his voice. 

The ground is dusty and the neon lights of Hyperion City wrap the gravestone in a faintly iridescent shimmer. Juno takes a moment and a deep breath to collect himself before putting the first bouquet down and sitting down on the cold ground, crossing his legs. He watches the sharp, black letters of his brother's name for a while before he reaches out to draw his fingers across them. 

“Happy birthday, you menace,” he whispers finally and brushes some sand off the top of the stone. He puts the second bouquet down carefully. 

“Rita says hi,” he explains, “And that she’s sorry she couldn’t make it this year. Top secret business. She’s doing well, though. A little too well, if you ask me, she’s five minutes of boredom and a whim away from ruling the entire galaxy,” he rearranges the flowers a little, “Yeah, I know, I know, she always is.” 

He can’t really talk about most of what he and the people he loves get up to because it would be incredibly incriminating and you never know who might be listening- which is always a bit of a shame because they’re mostly things he knows Benten would’ve been completely ecstatic about. To this day he sometimes randomly catches himself thinking that his brother would have an absolute field day with whatever adventure he finds himself caught up in at the time.

“Been married six goddamn years now, what do you say to that?” he says instead, “Who would’ve thought, right?” 

He knows that somewhere, Benten is rolling his eyes at him, saying something along the lines of Always knew you had it in you, Super Steel, you were the idiot who didn’t wanna believe it.

“I know I’ve said this before but you would’ve loved him,” Juno says quietly, “To be honest, I’m a bit afraid of what would’ve happened if you’d met him. Mayhem, definitely. Complete disaster,” he huffs a small laugh and rubs a tired hand across his face, “I wish you could’ve met them all.” 

It’s always hard to find a starting point to these one-sided conversations but once he’s found his footing, the words don’t stop pouring out of him. He talks about his friends, about his family, really, about his husband and the things that have happened and changed since last year, at least the ones that it wouldn’t hurt to have overheard. As painful as this place is, as much as being here makes his skin crawl, talking it all out and imagining his brother can somehow hear him is a weight off his back, a ritual it would hurt much worse to miss. 

“I’m getting older, Ben,” he says eventually, “I mean yeah, no shit, I know, but I mean… really older. To a point that I never really thought would… happen. And I look in the mirror and on the one hand, it’s fucking depressing because you never got to look like this and every year I look more different than you ever did and on the other hand I’m just… glad.” 

Juno sighs again. 

“My goddamn shoulder hurts every time it rains one drop or there’s a minor change in atmosphere and I hate it. You’d probably complain about your declining flexibility or something a lot.” 

There’s a stray cat slinking through the cemetery and Juno watches its dark figure weave along between the gravestones for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” Juno says, “I’m sorry you can’t have this. I would love to have you here.” 

He cringes a little at the awkward insufficiency of the words that don’t begin to express the way it feels to be finally well and truly happy and still, always, be missing something so fundamental that there’s no hope of ever replacing it. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself though,” he scolds the gravestone, “I’m doing pretty well for myself here.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Peter in the distance. Juno clears his throat and it feels raspy with talking and unshed tears.

“I love you,” he tells the name on the gravestone and it’s all ridiculous, really, because his brother can’t hear him, can’t hear any of this, but he can’t not say it and he knows he can’t not come back here every time, “I miss you.” 

He wipes his eye with the back of his hand, untangles his legs and gets up, nodding in Peter’s direction. He’s holding another small flower arrangement and he puts it down carefully when he reaches the grave.

“Hello, Benzaiten,” he says, “As always, I’m terribly sorry to steal Juno away so soon. I promise to take good care of him.” 

Juno brushes some dust off his coat and lets Peter put his arm around his shoulders and walk him down the rows and rows of graves. The stray cat eyes him suspiciously from beneath a rusty bench. The neon lights lock out the night that’s settling over the Martian desert and the endless, unrelenting hum of the city sets Juno’s teeth on edge.

They take a taxi to their hotel and Juno tries not to look at Hyperion City too much. They’re quiet almost all the way, lost in their own heads and memories and content to lean into each other’s warmth.

“Do you want a drink?” Peter asks after Juno has already pulled off his boots, shrugged off his coat and is in the process of removing his sweater and Juno gives a grateful nod. He takes the shower while Peter vanishes downstairs to the hotel bar and it’s a relief to wash the grime of Hyperion that has settled into his skin after only a few hours off. It’s probably sheer imagination, but Juno is going to allow himself to indulge in it today of all days. 

He sits down on the bed and turns on the screen above it, skipping through a couple of streams before turning it off again, the noise and flashing lights too much for the headache that’s been lurking at the back of his head since they left Titan. Moments later, Peter is returning with a steaming mug of something decidedly non-alcoholic looking.

“That’s your idea of a drink?” Juno asks with a raised eyebrow, not bothering to hide the twitch of his lips before taking a sip. 

“It’s all the rage these days, I hear,” Peter deadpans before vanishing into the bathroom.

It’s some sort of herbal tea, something with chamomile, spiked with whiskey. Juno has to privately admit that it does make him feel a lot of better, chasing the lingering chill away. 

“I’m surprised they even had this stuff around here,” Juno says after Peter comes back with a towel around his waist and starts leafing through his suitcase.

“A gentleman never reveals his secrets.”

“Uh-huh.” 

Peter puts on some underwear and joins Juno on the bed, watching him carefully for a moment. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

Juno thinks about it for a moment. The evening of his birthday is always a… weird one, for lack of a better word, too tinged in sadness and memories to have any hope of being truly good, but it wouldn’t be the first time that that particular cocktail of emotions pushed him into trying to explain all the conflicting and confusing things this place makes him feel. 

“I don’t think so. I think I’m just tired.” 

He takes another sip of his tea and lets his hands rest on the mug, letting the heat uncoil some of the lingering strain. Peter sits up against the headboard and lifts his arm for Juno to lean into.

“Have you heard from Rita yet?” he asks after Juno has settled down, head resting on his shoulder. 

“Yeah. She’s still busy, hell knows with what exactly, but the meeting on Neptune is still on.” 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t need to, really, but he can’t wait. Being apart from her for a stretch of time this long is always hard and mostly, they try to avoid it in the first place. 

The indistinct wailing of sirens and the echoes of shouting are drifting into the room even though it’s supposed to be soundproof. The lights of a billboard outside are drenching it in shifting, colourful shadows and Juno wonders about places and coming back to them. 

Every time he half-expects that Hyperion City will feel unfamiliar, that he’ll have changed enough that Mars won’t fall into place around him- but it never happens; it fits itself around him each time like a hated but well-worn sweater and he’s torn between wanting to be as far away as possible immediately and the desperate need to plant his feet on the ground and let Hyperion sink its claws under his skin all over again. 

He tries to drag his thoughts in another direction. He can deal with this once a year. For Ben. Tomorrow, they’re going to be far away again and the remainders of Hyperion’s grit are going to fade back into the realm of the intangible and maybe he’s going to feel slightly off for the next few days but he knows he’s going to be okay. 

Peter is a warm and solid presence against his side and because Juno doesn’t want to listen to the all-too-familiar noises outside, he puts his hand on Peter’s cheek and Peter follows the motion easily, without thought or deliberation, just muscle memory, sinking into place, fitting his lips against Juno’s. 

He draws back a few inches eventually, just far enough for Juno to see his slight smirk.

“I thought you were tired.” 

“Not that tired,” Juno replies with an eye roll and Peter sets his glasses and the comms he’d been fiddling with aside, shifting so that their positions mirror each other. He draws his fingertips over the side of Juno’s face and gives him a soft, private smile before tilting Juno’s chin into an open-mouthed kiss. Juno thinks that this is what he needs right now, the unhurried reassurance of their warm bodies moving together with the ease of a million nights together. 

It’s less sex for the sake of sex than for the feeling of a body so intimately familiar inextricably entangled with his own and the comfort of not knowing where either of them ends and the other begins. He sighs into Peter’s mouth and fits the length of their bodies together, pulling Peter on top of him, a song and dance that’s burned so deep into his being that he’s sure he could find its notes written into his bones. 

The city is loud, but Juno finds he can’t hear it anymore, and after, he breathes in the scent of their warm skin instead of the dust. When he buries his face in Peter’s chest and lets his husband wrap his arms around him, he can pretend he is anywhere else in the galaxy, but he doesn’t quite need to because like this, it doesn’t really matter where he is.

He can feel Peter reach for the light and then they’re wrapped in darkness and blue and pink neon shadows and the last thing he hears is Peter’s soft voice, words that he’s heard a thousand times before and is going to hear another million times before the end. 

“Go to sleep, Juno. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”


End file.
